Family
by Rahleigh
Summary: The two halves of Italy spend their Christmas morning together. I know it's not Christmas, but I wanted to post this anyway.


It's not even close to Christmas but I found this again, so I'm going to post it anyway. Also, it's been so long that I don't remember what the Italian is supposed to say, but if it's wrong feel free to correct me.

* * *

"Ve! Romano! Romano, its Christmas!" Veneziano enthused, bouncing on his sleeping brother's bed, jarring the older Italian awake. Romano responded with a groan, throwing an arm over his eyes and burrowing deeper into the covers. "Romano! Get up! Please? The sooner you get up, the sooner we can make breakfast. The sooner we make breakfast, the sooner we can empty stockings. The sooner we empty our stockings, the sooner we can open pres-"

"I'm. Up." Romano growled, taking his hand away from Veneziano's mouth, kicking off the covers and sliding his feet into the slippers resting by his bed. Slippers that were most certainly not shaped like bunnies. They weren't pink either. Definitely not. Grabbing his brother's hand, Romano stomped out of the room, grabbing two sweaters from the dresser on his way out. Outside the door he pulled on his own on, throwing the other to Veneziano, who donned it hastily. While Veneziano rushed down the stairs, Romano took his time, trying to ignore the anxious twisting in his stomach. He met Veneziano in the kitchen, all the necessary supplies for their breakfast sitting innocently on the counter.

"Brioche?" Romano questioned, taking inventory of the ingredients Veneziano had offered up. His younger brother only nodded, smile wide. He handed his brother a bowl, giving him an encouraging push toward the counter where the bread flour and yeast lay. Romano grumbled but sifted the two together none the less, as Veneziano beat the eggs on the counter adjacent. Veneziano hummed quietly to himself and Romano soon found himself humming as well. It was a song they were both familiar with. A lullaby they had grown up with. The song came to an end and their humming faded, but neither brother wanted to let the moment go. That fleeting moment of peace, real peace that they were so rarely allowed.

The song drifted from their lips, a soft chorus of a memory deeply ingrained. The brother's sang as they worked and found comfort in something so inane, but so familiar.

The words filled the kitchen as the brothers continued to sing, giggling between breaths. Veneziano brought the eggs, a dull yellow cream, to where his brother stood, handing them over, smiling, before skipping off to get the butter, the words still hanging on his lips. Romano kneaded the dough as Veneziano set the oven. The dough was set in their brioche pan, and popped in the oven. The tomato timer on the table was set and the brothers settled in to wait.

* * *

Bellies sated, the brothers sat in the living room, stockings standing in front of them. "Ready?" Romano questioned his brother, eyeing the young man next to him; grip tight on the fabric between his fingers. "One, two... three." and the stockings were up turned, contents spilling onto the carpeted floor. Both brothers grinned in delight at the treasures splayed out before them. Romano picked up one of the round red fruits, bringing it close to his nose and inhaling deeply. Perfectly ripe, just as they were every year. He was tempted to bite into the juicy red flesh held in his hand, but refrained, if only for Veneziano. Said Italian squealed beside his brother, sifting his hands through the countless bags of pasta in front of him, bought fresh from the market just the other day. He grinned at his brother, gathering all the pasta back into his stocking and marching to the kitchen, Romano doing the same with his own treasures.

* * *

Once the stockings were hung back in place above the fire, their contents stowed safely in the kitchen, the two young men sat down again, a present in each of their laps. Romano's present green with little snowmen dotting the paper. Veneziano's white with little Santas. Veneziano counted down this time, and the two tore into the wrapping, little paper figures flying. Both brothers gasped in delight at their gifts.

Veneziano glowed with pride as Romano delicately fingered the soft gardening gloves and shiny tools in his hand. Veneziano hugged his new pastels and oils to his chest, scooting over to his brother and pecking him on the cheek, with a small thank you tossed over his shoulder before he dashed up the stairs. Romano couldn't help the small smile that stole his lips. He picked himself up, present clutched to his chest as he made his way upstairs to ready for the day.

* * *

The brothers met downstairs, showered and dressed. Romano grumbled at his brother's hug and pushed him away gently before cleaning up the mess of their morning. Veneziano pitched in with a giggle and between them the room was spotless in minutes. They sat together on the couch for a moment and not a word passed between them. The clock on the wall chimed ten and they heaved themselves up, and headed for the door.

"I've gotta go. I'm visiting Germany and Prussia today. I promised." Veneziano's voice wasn't as happy as it would have been any other day, nor did Romano retort with a scathing remark about macho potatoes and brother stealing bastards, just smiled somewhat sadly at his brother.

"Antonio's" He answered. Veneziano offered him a smile in return as they locked the door behind them. Veneziano hugged his brother again, and Romano hugged back. Neither wanted to part. They let go reluctantly and headed their separate ways to spend the day with friends. They would enjoy themselves but still; they would wish to be home.

"Lovino!" Veneziano shouted back, stopping his brother in his tracks, "Spaghetti per cena stasera!" Lovino chuckled.

"Ovviamente! Questa sera, mio fratello!" They would still wish to be home, spending the day that comes but once a year with the only family they had left.


End file.
